A Little Payback
by AmeliaReddy
Summary: What if Dean Winchester accidentally hit on the wrong person? Dean hits on a very fed up witch and she exacts her revenge. Dean wakes up as a girl! He and Sam have to backtrack and figure out how to fix this very mixed up turn of events. One-shot.


To my everlasting chagrin, I do not own _Supernatural_. This is not for profit.

**Hello! I wanted to make this story to show what Dean would go through should he ever hit on the wrong person… You all know what I mean. I think it's about time Dean is shown what's **_**really **_**up when it comes to his shameless woman-hunting. But, you know what they say; you can take the hunt away from the man, but you can't take the man away from the hunt. Or maybe I just made that up…? But, I hope you all enjoy this nonetheless. This is a one-shot, but it should be plenty long. I've got a lot on my brain for this one ;) and this story should be just fun, not really to be taken too seriously. And there are no spoilers, I'm pretty sure. It doesn't really have a set time in the show. Wherever is your favorite point in time, just plop it right in there. Okay, enough from me! Enjoy and REVIEW! **

Dean Winchester knocked back another shot as he sat on the barstool, washing another hard day's work. He had a hard time recalling whether this was drink number 6 or 7. He figured it didn't really matter as long as he got drunk enough to momentarily forget who he was. Today's job had been harder than usual. They hadn't gotten there in time to save a young girl from a particularly vengeful spirit. When things like this happened, Dean couldn't help but take it home. He washed back drink number 8. Or was it 7? Dean shook his head and disregarded that thought. At that moment, Dean caught sight of a girl with majestic blonde hair sitting at a table with other girls, presumably her friends.

_That looks like just the thing to cheer me up; _Dean thought and finished off one last shot for good measure. He got up from the barstool, but, before he could bust out the Winchester charms, another girl stepped out in front on him, blocking his path. This girl had shorter brown hair and looked suspiciously young to be in a bar, but Dean was too drunk to notice something like that. What he did notice was that this girl, not at all dressed to attract someone like Dean, was in the way of him distracting himself from the misery that was his life.

"Look, sweetheart, you're cute, I'll give ya that, but you're not exactly my type. That girl over there is more what I was lookin' for tonight." The girl shook her head as if Dean were uttering complete nonsense.

"Don't go over there. You're in danger!" it was Dean's turn to disregard her words as nonsense.

"Even if I were in danger, are _you_ supposed to save me?" He looked the girl up and down. He was tall, but still shorter than Dean, and she was thin. Hardly superhero material, Dean thought.

"Yes. I mean- no, but, just don't go over there. Please." She gave Dean a puppy dog look that could give Sam's a run for his money, but Dean, being drunk and stupid, and just really not liking being told what to do, simply shoved the brunette out of the way and walked up to the blonde with all the more confidence. And he walked up just in time to hear the end of the girl's sentence.

"… I swear they're going to regret it." But Dean, being a stubborn Winchester, didn't let this threatening half-sentence change his mind.

"Hey," Dean said, suave as ever. "I was just sitting over there when I couldn't help but notice how incredibly beautiful you are! My name is Richard Cavanaugh and my team is shooting a movie-" He was stopped when she slowly turned to face him, shooting him her ice cold glare. One of her hands gripped his mouth closed and the other was digging into his chest, palm outstretched.

"Richard, you seem to have caught me at an unfortunate time." Her nails, if possible, tore through his shirt and bit into his chest, sending searing pain throughout his body. "I have had it up to here," she took her hand from his face to show her how far she had 'had it', "with you men, always just coming up and expecting to get in our pants! Can't you see we're having a girls' night? You know, I think maybe you should find out what it's like. Maybe then you will appreciate women as more than an object!" She stuck her nails into his skin and drew blood, stars dancing in front of Dean's eyes. "I have to show you!" She got up and began pushing Dean backwards toward the door. "Then you'll _see_!" With one final push, Dean stumbled out the door, and then his world went black.

*~N~*

Dean groaned and rolled onto his back again. He was more tired than usual, and his clothes felt weird. And he couldn't help but sense the large presence looming over him. When he first opened his eyes things were blurry and grey, but he blinked away the fuzziness to see Sam above him, gun pointed for his head.

"Whoa, Sammy, don't you think it's a little early for dramatics?" _What's wrong with my voice? _Dean cleared his throat and stared at his brother, telling him, without words, to put the gun down already.

"Who are you?" Sam growled, his lip giving a slight twitch. "Or should I say, _what _are you?" dean just stared at his brother.

"What the hell are you talking about? It's me, Dean! Who else would it be?" Sam returned the stare, looking deeply into his brother's eyes.

"Prove it," he said simply.

"Really? This is stupid!" Dean flung his arms in the air. "Why do I have to prove I'm me?" Sam pointed at him.

"Have you looked in the mirror recently?" Dean cautiously turned and walked to the bathroom and flipped on the light.

"Ahh!" Dean screamed when he saw his reflection. He was no longer Dean! He was… a she! Dean had been taken down a few inches, his broad shoulders slimmer and his narrow hips wider. His dark blonde hair was in waves past his shoulders and he was all together about three sizes smaller. He still looked like himself, but he wasn't really himself anymore. He looked feminine, and actually quite pretty. He looked like the kind of girl he would hit on. And were those… boobs? This was all too strange.

"What the hell, man!" Dean stomped his foot and sounded whiney, which was a rare thing on Dean.

"Now do you get why I need you to prove it?" Dean nodded, his long hair falling onto his face. He put his hand to his head, thinking.

"Well, I know you listen to crappy 60's music," he kept thinking, "I know you were going to propose to Jessica before she died." Seeing the shadow fall on Sam's face, Dean decided to lighten the mood with a chuckle. "I know about that special little birthmark you-know-where." Sam's eyes grew wide and he lowered his gun for the first time.

"I believe you," he whispered.

"Awesome," Dean declared by clapping his hands together. "Now let's eat. I'm freaking starving." Before Dean could get out the door, Sam stopped him.

"You're going to go out dressed like that?" Sam gestured at his attire.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Dean glanced down at his sagging pants.

"You look like a cross dresser."

"Oh, I'm sorry man. I'm sorry I don't have back up clothes because we're so frequently in this situation!" Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"Just wait in the car." Sam marched out to the car and Dean flung his head back to let out a long, exaggerated sigh before following Sam outside.

"Dude, did you take the keys?" Dean asked, checking the pockets to his now oversized leather jacket. Sam nodded and hopped into the driver's seat. "Oh, hell no," Dean muttered and stomped over to reopen the driver's side door. "Just because I'm no longer a guy, does not mean you can revoke my right to drive my baby."

"Dean, you don't have a driver's license. At least, not with that face on it."

"So?"

"So, what if we get pulled over?" Dean shook his head.

"We will not get pulled over. I am an excellent driver. Now scoot over." Once again, Sam surrendered and moved to the passenger's seat. "Don't worry, baby. It's still me, just with different parts." Dean listened with glee as the motor purred to life and he peeled away from the motel.

Not twenty minutes later, Dean pulled to the side of the road, obeying the sirens that had tailed him to this spot. "Yeah, excellent driver," Sam muttered ungratefully. Dean smacked Sam on the back of the head.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Now shut up and let me handle this." Dean waited until the police officer was close to his window to twist the crank and let the breeze flow into the vehicle once more. Though he had prayed to himself it was a female officer, because that was his strong point, it wasn't, and he had to flash his top smile anyway. "What seems to be the problem officer?" Dean cleared his throat again. _What is up with my voice? _And then he remembered. He was no longer Dean. He was female now.

"Excuse me young lady, you seemed to be going about twenty over the limit. I'm going to have to ask to see your license and registration." _Yeah, not doing anything wrong, _Sam thought angrily. The officer, Dean could see his tag now, was named McCreedy, and he leaned onto the window and flashed a smile in return. A smile that sent chills down Dean's back. A smile Dean recognized to be _flirtatious_. And, sending a warning look to his brother, he realized what he had to do. Dean re-placed the smile on his face and flipped his hair, as he had seen so many women do to him. He reached out and gripped the nametag.

"Oh, Officer McCreedy, you see- oh! Your muscles are so developed! How often do you go to the gym?" Although he was utterly disgusted with himself, he knew it was necessary. McCreedy blushed and answered in a cluster.

"Oh, you know, standard amount, as lady like yourself would of course know, being so fit and such…" Dean laughed a high pitched tinkling laughter and flipped his hand.

"Oh, you're simply _too _much!" His hand fell down to rest on the officer's. "Look, about the license, I accidentally sent mine through a shredder. Yeah, I know, dumb blonde move, right? But I thought it was my maxed out credit card and by the time I realized my mistake it was too late. So, I have to wait two more _weeks_ to get a new one! Don't you understand my dilemma?" The cop nodded, but looked sorrowful.

"Yes, I know this is quite a pickle you're in, but you still can't drive without a license. Why couldn't you just let your friend here drive?" He motioned toward Sam, who gave a slight nod. Thinking on his now small feet, he motioned for the cop to come closer, as if to whisper a secret to him. He cautiously moved toward the eldest Winchester.

"You see my friend here?" McCreedy nodded. "Well, he's not all there, you know? He's a little slow to catch on." The officer looked confused. "You know… _mentally ill?_"

"Ohh," McCreedy finally nodded as if he were in on the big secret. Dean knew Sam had heard. He was counting on it.

"Yeah. So you see why he can't drive? And I know I don't have a license as of now, but he needed to go to a _special appointment_ and no one else could take him!" McCreedy looked conflicted for a moment, but finally came to a conclusion.

"Alright, I can let you off. But drive the limit! Because I can't guarantee the next officer will be as generous."

"Thank you so much!" Dean knew that McCreedy would not have let him off if he had still been Dean. But then again, if he had been Dean, he would have had a driver's license.

"Okay. Have a good day, now." He bent over and waved at Sam, "Young man." Sam nodded and waved, then seemed to remember he was now 'mentally challenged.' He pushed his chin to his chest and made his eyes go cross, and then pointed to himself.

"Pudding!"

"That's nice. Goodbye, now." Dean rolled up the window and drove away, going the speed limit. He could tell Sam was about to speak, but he held a warning finger to him.

"Don't say a word. Don't ever talk about this again. Don't even _think _about this again." Sam just laughed.

"You're way less intimidating when you have a squeaky voice."

"I know," Dean moaned. He shook his head as if trying to shake away what had just happened. When it didn't work, his lip curled and he muttered in a barely audible tone: "I feel dirty…" Sam just laughed.

"Yeah. So, do you have any idea how we got into this situation? You know, all that… parts replacement." Dean let out a small, hollow bark of laughter.

"Yeah. The last thing I can remember is knocking back a few at the bar, and I go to hit on this chick and she gets all pissy with me. I actually think she clawed me," Dean motioned for Sam to take the wheel for a moment, and so he reached over to do so. Dean released the wheel and pulled his shirt down to see if the marks remained. They did, but they were faint. "See these things? I'm telling you, this girl was vicious." Sam arched one eyebrow at the marks and Dean took back control of the vehicle. "Maybe if I'd listened to that chick…" _I wouldn't be one,_ Dean didn't have to finish. That's when it finally clicked in his mind. "Dude, Sammy! That chick!" Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I know. She was vicious."

"No, Sammy. There was this other one. Taller, brunette. Cute, but kind of young. She tried to stop me from hitting on this other girl; she told me I was in danger. Of course, I didn't listen, and now I'm kind of cheering for the other squad if you know what I mean." Sam thought about this new information.

"And you just thought to mention this now? This girl could know what's going on. And maybe even how to reverse it!"

"Well, I'm sorry man, but I kind of had other things on my mind." Then he muttered, "And between my legs." Sam chose to ignore that comment.

"Do you remember where you went last night? Maybe someone there will remember her and tell us where to find her." Dean shook his head, trying to clear it and recall what it was called. He snapped his fingers.

"'Classic Heat', that's what it's called!"

"Great, now do you remember where it is?" Dean waved him off with an extremely feminine flap of his wrist.

"Of course. Maybe if we go now we can hunt this chick down and have our little problem solved by the end of the day."

Dean Winchester once more flung back the doors to _Classic Heat_, but this time as a whole other person. No one recognized him from the night before. Everyone there noticed him for entirely different reasons. They noticed him because he was no longer a he.

"We're not open," a strong voice called from behind the bar. "Come back at 6." The man behind the bar, who looked like he was about Sam's age, finally turned and saw them. "Oh, I'm sorry. You must be looking for Angie." Dean looked at his brother for assistance before confirming what may or may not be true.

"Uh… yeah, I am."

"Do you two go to school together?" Dean nodded.

"We're, uh, working on a project together. I think. I'm not sure if I have the right information… Angie, she's tall and brunette right? With the shortish hair?"

"You forgot to mention stubborn and annoying. Yeah, that sounds like my sister. I'll go get her. She should be in the back. Just wait here." He was about to leave, when he turned back. "What's your name, again?" Sam, as if he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life, answered immediately.

"Deanna. Her name's Deanna. And I'm her brother, Sam." The man nodded.

"Cool. I'm James. Now let me hunt down Angie for you." When James left, Dean turned to Sam.

"Deanna? Really, Sam?" Sam shrugged innocently.

"What? Dad never told you that you were named after Grandma Campbell?" Dean just smacked the back of his brother's head.

"Shut up, Samantha."

After a minute or so of waiting, James returned with a tall brunette in tow. "I'm telling you, James I don't think I know a Deanna or have a project due-" But when she caught sight of Dean, her face changed. It seemed almost like she recognized Dean, though how she could recognize him when she had seen him for all of one minute when Sam, who had known Dean his whole life, didn't even recognize him, he didn't know. She lifted her palm to her forehead in false remembrance. "Oh, science project Deanna! Of course! And who is your studly acquaintance?" Dean looked around, half expecting to see himself around the corner, but saw Sam instead.

"Who, him? This is just my geek brother. Now, I really need to speak with you about the, um, problem with our project. I know that teacher has it in for us, so we should probably make sure it goes off without a hitch, if you know what I mean." James looked confused.

"Who, Mrs. Johnson? I thought you told me she was nice."

"Oh no, Mrs. Johnson is a real hag." She ran up to take Dean's arm and began to pull him away. "Now let's go somewhere we can study undisturbed. Sam, there might be something we need your help on. Yeah, you should come, too. James, we'll be in the back room. Knock before coming in." James shrugged and flung a rag over his shoulder.

"Whatever you say." The two girls and Sam walked through the doorway and into a back storage room, where there were crates of supplies everywhere, along with an elaborate homework station, set up by Angie. When she was sure the door was closed and no one was in the room, she pointed an accusing finger at Dean.

"You! It's you, the rude drunk guy from last night! How did you find me?"

"How did I find you? I just came back to this bar where I got a miraculous gender switch! And what about you? I am not the only one who has some explaining to do! How did you know this," he motioned to himself, "was going to happen?" She seemed to recall that he was not, in fact, still male, and this sobered her immediately.

"Well, I didn't really know what, exactly, was going to happen to you." Dean developed this pained look on his face. "And I don't know how to reverse it." Dean looked like he would double over at any second. "All I knew was that that girl was serious bad news. Everyone hits on her, everyone gets rejected. And a lot of the time, those who get rejected, also get a serious side effect. One guy lost all of his hair. Another went blind- yeah, seriously. And, well," she gestured at Dean, "exhibit C. By the way, if you're stuck in this gender, you need to look the part. Your hair is ratted and your clothes are far too baggy. You kind of look like a poor attempt at drag." Dean sat on a nearby crate and held his head between his legs.

"I think I'm going to have an aneurism." Sam came over and patted his back reassuringly. Angie shielded her eyes and made a small squeaking sound.

"Dude, you seriously need a bra." Dean pulled up his shirt and gave a soft whimper. Taking pity on Dean, or Deanna, Angie came and patted his back as well.

"Don't worry, Deanna. I know who she is. _And_ where to find her." This stopped Dean's whimpering and he looked up, sporting a look saying _Really? You are officially my hero._ "But first, I am _so _giving you a makeover." Dean's look no longer made Angie out as a hero.

*~N~*

Dean changed his mind about shorts. When you have the right pair of shorts matched with the right pair of legs, you look _freaking awesome_! And right now, in the strategically placed mini-skirt (to weasel information out of unsuspecting males, of course), Deanna Winchester did, in fact, look pretty amazing. Angie had loaned Dean some clothes for the remainder of his time in this gender, seeing as they were pretty close in size. Dean had gone pretty crazy for a Beatles t-shirt she had lying around, and since the majority of the Winchesters' job was running, she had given him a very successful sports bra. When combined with a kick-ass pair of combat boots, Deanna was an eye catching blonde beauty. But of course there was also the adventure with the tweezers (men did not really take kindly to man-scaping) and the hairbrush (Dean's brushing usually consisted of a run-through with his hand), but after a lot of combing and shaving, it was startling to even Dean how good he looked.

"There," Angie said, taking a step back to admire her work. "Now that you've been initiated into the female world, we can get going to Leda's place."

"Who's Leda?"

"Leda's the girl that did this to you. But, you have to admit, it's been more of a blessing so far." Dean did have to admit to this. He hadn't entirely minded the added attention. Although, the stares from the old guys in the bar had creeped him out, because he is still just his old, flirt-on-the-waitress self, and it had almost killed him to resist all of the girls with bodies even half as good looking as his own, but he had gotten a lot of free pie. And free pie was enough to make up for all of that, in Dean's book.

"Okay, well, let's get going. I'm not sure how much more Deanna I can handle," Sam muttered and ran a hand through his hair, before leading the two girls into back into the Impala. James was the owner of _Classic Heat, _and they both lived in an apartment above the bar. James was Angie's legal guardian, after their parents went on a cruise and never came back. No one knows where they went, but the money vanished from their savings accounts and more than a week's worth of clothes had been packed for the trip. Like, a life's worth of clothes had been packed instead. But no one knew that accept the Angie and James. Everyone else just assumed they had died.

"Pull through here, and then right up there, yeah. Apartment 43A, that's where Leda lives." Angie led the group up the stairs and Dean knocked on the door ferociously.

"Open the door!" It was scary how similar Deanna's angry voice and Dean's angry voice sounded.

"Who is it?" A softer, more exhausted voice called back.

"Me!" Dean didn't say who 'me' was supposed to be. A lot of the time, Dean found, people already had a 'me' they were expecting anyway. Leda, with tangled blonde hair and bags under her eyes, flung open the door, and looked disappointed it was not the 'me' she was expecting.

"You don't have pancakes…" She gurgled, disappointed.

"No, but I have a knuckle sandwich!" Sam had to physically restrain Dean from attacking Leda.

"Whoa, what's this chick's problem?"

"I wasn't a chick with problems until you came along, bitch!" Dean growled.

"I'm sorry, I think he means _witch_," Sam corrected snarkily. Leda looked scared, when she realized who she was speaking to.

"Oh, Richard, right?"

"Dean," Dean corrected, a little ashamed of his lady-catching techniques.

"Whatever. But you're that guy from the bar!" She gave Dean the once over, looking him up and down. "Wow. I did a nice job."

"'Nice job'? Seriously? I think not. I am now of the opposite sex! This is not normal!"

"Right…" Leda sucked in a long breath through her teeth with her statement. "Look, about that… I'm sorry. Really, I am. I am just naturally testy, so when you throw in alcohol and witch powers, people get hurt. But you're in luck!"

"How does any of this make me lucky?" Dean, once more for dramatic effect, motioned toward himself.

"You're lucky because there's a way to reverse it. Bald Guy and Blind Guy, well, they weren't as lucky as you appear to have been." This news cheered Dean up quite a bit.

"Well, alright! Let's get on it! Slap some Hoo-Doo on me, woman!" She shook her head.

"That's the thing. It can't be reversed by counter magic. To end the spell, you have to learn your lesson." Dean didn't understand.

"What lesson would that be?" Leda looked him right in the eyes.

"Your shameless womanizing!" And with that, she retreated to her apartment and slammed the door. The three of them stood there for a moment, half expecting her to swing the door back open, chanting the words to some Latin counter spell. But nothing of the sort happened.

"Well, that was a bust," Sam stated sullenly.

"Back to _Classic Heat_?" Angie suggested. Dean nodded.

"I need to get drunk." With that, they all piled back into the Impala.

*~N~*

Men kept talking to him, and Dean couldn't help it. He would down one drink after another, his bounds for alcohol seemed not to have been affected in the change. One guy came up, dressed sharply, gorgeous hair, just trying to service his manly needs, but Dean shot him down.

"Hello, miss. Can I buy you a drink?" He had asked, ever-so-politely. At first Dean was flattered.

"You look like a real straight shooter, but you're really not my type," Dean said simply.

"Are you sure you don't want that drink?" Dean shot his knowing glare the man's direction.

"No's a no, pal. Move on." He did as Dean told. After the straight shooter, things just went progressively downward. A less fit, less attractive version of the; same man had also tried to buy Dean drinks. With the same answer, he was walking away, and taking his bruised ego with him. Then it was a flabby, bald man, who took 'bald' to a new extreme. He had no eyebrows, no hair on his head or his arms, and by the looks of it, no hair to his legs, either. _This must be one of the other guys Leda had cursed, _Dean thought.

"Hey there, sweetheart." _This guy never learns! _He was gone with an icy imitation of Leda. Thereafter was a guy with red cowboy boots, a guy with short-shorts, and a guy with a ferret. All rejected.

"Look, I'm just trying to get drunk in peace!" But no one seemed to understand. Then came along the guy in the gauchos, the guy with the manicure, yes, a manicure, and the guy with the long, grey unibrow. If Dean didn't know any better, he could have sworn his unibrow grew into his mustache. All no's, and all very upset about it. _Is this really what it's like for the girls I hit on? _Dean couldn't know. But the next guy, this one was just the last straw. He came up behind him; no warning whatsoever grabbed his butt and shoved him into the bar. He turned him around to face him and, with greasy hair and bad breath, asked a single question.

"Do you wanna dance cutie?" That was it. Dean had had it. With what seemed like a twist of his arm, he had turned this jackass around so he was the one held to the bar, and then pushed him to the ground.

"With anyone but you, loser!" There was applause and whistling, and all the men wanted a piece of that.

"Does that mean you'll go with me?" Dean, far past the breaking point, didn't even bother to turn to see the face of such a man. He flipped him off and began to walk back to the door, when all of a sudden, his world went black once more.

*~N~*

Dean was shook awake by a very anxious Sam. His clothes felt weird again. His whole body felt weird. He didn't know what it meant. What he did know was that he was somehow back in his Motel bed.

"What do you want, Sammy?" Dean grumped.

"Dean! It worked! Whatever it was, it worked!" Dean opened his eyes with determination.

"Do you mean I'm-" Dean didn't wait for an answer. He lunged for the bathroom and flipped on the light.

"Yes!" Dean screamed from the bathroom, his voice once again deep. He was no longer Deanna- he was Dean Winchester. And his clothes were too small. "Dude, where are my clothes?" Sam tossed Dean a pair of his old, clean clothes for him to change into, and all was once more right with the world.

They went back to the bar to say goodbye to Angie, and she was very happy to hear that Dean was back to normal.

"Wow," she exclaimed. "You're even better looking than I remembered."

"Thanks," Dean stated, just happy to be himself again. "We just wanted to thank you for coming along with us, even though it turned out to be a wild goose chase- oh, hello." Dean's attention was pulled away by an especially attractive substitute bartender. Maybe Dean would never, truly learn.

**Review! Comment! Thank you all! **


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